The Farewell Affair
by RoseLight
Summary: The rescue of a T3 agent creates consequences for Kuryakin. Follows Lady Killer, 2 of 3, but can be read as stand-alone.


THE FAREWELL AFFAIR

ACT 1 You never promised me a rose garden

Illya Kuryakin was anticipating this mid-week rendezvous. For the first few years of his service at UNCLE, the Russian had eschewed regular paid vacation time. But in the two years since he had encountered the T3 assassin Rosemary Livingston, he had been availing himself of accumulated vacation benefits whenever they could arrange time together.

He slid the rental car into a parking space and inserted his private key into the cottage door. Kuryakin had an arrangement with the owner of the quaint Poconos inn. The romantic Rose Garden suite was always available to him, in gratitude for his valuable assistance on a long-ago mission.

Rosemary had preceded him. Rose petals were strewn in a delicate path from the threshold to the balcony, where she waited. The honeymoon castle was perched on a mountaintop, secure and serene. She was leaning over the rail into the crisp, cool air. When she heard his footsteps, Rosemary turned her back to the valley vista and walked directly into his arms without a word.

She was still too thin, he evaluated critically. Her soft color was merely makeup and her embrace had little energy. Even though she had been on a month's medical leave for restoration after that last dreadful mission, Kuryakin was still not satisfied with her recovery.

"I'm fine," she murmured, reading his mind. "Especially now." He held her for several heartbeats, then stepped apart to study her. She was wearing her hair dark and wavy; her eyes, changeable as the weather, had gone gray. He never knew which of her incarnations would greet him, but he found them all enchanting.

Rosemary's artistry in makeup and disguise had earned her the nickname of Chameleon, and the professional admiration of the underground espionage world. She joked that Illya Kuryakin was the only man who had ever seen her without makeup and lived.

"Race you to the waterfall," she challenged gleefully.

"Hmf." He looked her up and down intently. "You're hardly able to stand, let alone race."

"Then it ought to be easy for you to catch me. Last one in is a Socialist sympathizer…"

ACT 2 Breaking Up is Hard to Do

Spring had come early this year, but the evenings were still brisk. Illya brought out a blanket to wrap them against the chill on the porch. Rosemary patted the space beside her on the creaking swing and he joined her, swaying gently. She shivered and his arm encircled her protectively.

Some divine geographic anomaly had situated the crag so that the mountain mist shadowed the moon in a blue haze. The faint sweetness of clover and dogwood drifted up from the valley. Mockingbirds called to their mates

"You're too quiet, my love," she tickled his nose with a fragrant bough of pine needles. "And not peaceful-quiet; disturbing -quiet."

How did she know him so well, when he remained an enigma to so many? In measurable terms of weeks, days, hours, they had spent only snatches of time together. But he never had to explain anything to her. It was a novelty he usually appreciated-unless he had something to hide.

"Rosemary...I can't do this anymore."

Her lips paled white as if he had stunned her with his fist. The blanket slid past their knees and puddled onto the floor unnoticed.

She recovered her breathing sufficiently to reply in quiet control.

"Oh. I understand."

"No, you don't-"

"Had to happen. " She sat up straight and composed herself, trying to toss it off lightly. "We knew from the start this was not the stuff that 'happily-ever-after' is manufactured from."

"Ro-"

"We agreed when we met," she reminded him solemnly.

"Yes, and we've been oh-so-good at keeping things light and cool," he congratulated themselves sarcastically. "Til Thermopolae."

On her last mission, Rosemary had been betrayed and then abandoned by The Termination Team, the organization for which she had worked nearly eight years. It was sheer happenstance that Kuryakin heard of her plight, and he went directly to Waverly. "Sir, I have a plan."

The UNCLE chief was not unsympathetic, but network policy was unequivocal. "We do not interfere in the operations of another service, unless our intervention is requested."

"But her own service has given her up, Sir. Surely that should make her a -a free agent, available and valuable to any organization..."

Waverly took a long draw on his pipe. "There is a universal understanding, Mr. Kuryakin, regarding the expendability of individual agents, " he reminded gently. " Your plan, while laudable, cannot be sanctioned by this office. Meanwhile, an opportunity has crossed my desk, perfect for someone of your particular skills and experience..."

He never heard Waverly's alternative. Wordlessly, the lone Russian wolf returned to his office, carefully removed the #2 badge from his lapel, slid his gold ID card into his top desk drawer, and reserved a seat on the next flight to Greece. There had been Waverly's wrath to face following his return from that little episode, but nothing he could not endure. Rosemary was safe.

Years of stoicism, repressing his emotions by nature and training, snapped at the sight of the weakened woman beside him in the dark. He finally gave voice to his frustration and anxiety. "Dammit, I hauled you out of that hell hole! I sat beside you for hours, wondering if you would ever open your eyes again-" he shuddered, remembering.

"But I did and I'm here now and we're together and it's all right..." she crooned to him in a rush .

"No, it is not all right!" He baffled himself, not understanding where his passionate declaration had come from. "I know now what we almost lost-who I almost lost. And now when we're not in the same room I cannot concentrate. I wonder where you are and who is watching your back and-" he stopped abruptly.

"And who I'm with?" she whispered. The seduction angle of Rosemary's assignments was understood between them, but they never spoke of it aloud.

"Yes. I confess. I wonder who you are with."

"You care," she spoke wondrously into the night at his revelation.

"I didn't think you wanted me to. But there it is. You've tortured the truth out of me. I meant it, when I said I cannot continue, not like this. I have given it great consideration, and this is what I propose..."

ACT 3 A local guide can be arranged…

"You're quite mad, you know," Rosemary responded evenly after listening to the Russian's plan.

"No, this plan is perfect in its simplicity," he persuaded her.

"Said the guy who is not getting his brain sucked out," she protested.

Illya took both her hands and she could see he was troubled.

"T 3 will never let you...retire...as long as you are a security risk to them. They will protect their covert status at all costs. So, we remove the security risk."

"And all my memories?"

"It's selected memory reduction. We pinpoint the dangerous knowledge and focus like a laser-beam to erase it with very specific drug therapy. It's not as draconian as it sounds," he reassured her. "They've already developed truth serums that recover specific information. Now, with the proper application, scientists can create selective amnesia. You are no longer a threat to T3. You're free. You're safe. It's your chance"

"But is it our chance? I wouldn't consider it, except-" an awful alternative occurred to her. "Unless...you see this as your way out."

"Ro...how can you imagine-"

"I'm sorry," she retracted the unworthy thought. "It's just that I've lived in the twilight of truth for so long..."

Kuryakin nodded his understanding. "I know that trust is difficult. Each strand we extend toward another is so delicate, until it is tested. Then the next strand grows stronger. I've been working on trust for awhile myself," he admitted.

"So, once that I am brain-dead and unemployed-"

"Nonsense. You're a capable and talented woman. With your skill in makeup and design, you could work in the theater. Or use your culinary gifts-that was never a mere cover. Take free-lance catering jobs, or open a pastry shop on the east side..." Kuryakin had considered a long list of options.

"Hmmm…" Rosemary was suspicious. "Is it merely coincidence that all these employment opportunities you suggest center around New York, where you live, rather than DC, where I hang my hat? "

"The natives are friendly," Illya continued. "A local guide could be arranged; and you really do not want to live in the shadow of your former employer."

"All valid points," she conceded. "You really believe this can work?" The assassin searched Kuryakin's face for confirmation. Rosemary wanted to believe.

"I stake my life on it. Or rather, yours, " he smiled. " Waverly is negotiating the details with Tishman now. And the Old Man always gets what he wants."

"You make everything seem possible."

ACT 4 Until we meet again

Illya held her hand in her room at the private research clinic, their fingers weaving in and out. He repeated her name like soft syllables of comfort and assurance until they rolled her away and escorted him to an anonymous waiting room.

Kuryakin had abundant experience in waiting rooms. From desert tents to sleek metro facilities, waiting rooms were remarkably similar. He knew to stretch every two hours. He learned to avoid proffered coffee. He knew that every magazine would be dated last February and all the clocks would run backwards.

Absorbed in thought, he jumped to alert when the door opened.

"How's it going ?" Solo asked.

Kuryakin shrugged. "We're into Hour Three. Leg cramps and OJ. You know the routine."

"Yeah. S'funny, we're usually waiting _ for_ each other, not with each other. You should have called. Partners, remember?" Solo admonished.

"Well, this is not exactly official."

"Waverly's invested a lot of his influence in your little scheme...Ah," he inhaled appreciatively from a greasy bag. "Ambrosia." Solo divided the burgers and fries. "So, is it your turn to pace, or mine?"

A white smocked technician appeared. "Procedure's over. Looks fine. The doctor will be by shortly."

"Thank you," Kuryakin acknowledged.

"She's in recovery. You can see her as soon as she's back in her room," the tech added helpfully.

"Eh…perhaps later."

Solo was surprised. He had expected his partner to fly to Rosemary's side and smash through any clinic policy or personnel that blocked his way. "Aren't you going to go up and see her?"

"I just need to hear from the doctor that everything went well."

"But she's expecting you..." Solo puzzled. "I mean, she IS expecting you...isn't she?" A cold, tight knot of apprehension began to form in his gut.

Kuryakin fixed his gaze out the window and across the park. "Not if all went well.." he replied almost to himself.

Solo swung his partner by the shoulders to face him. "Illya, you told her-"

"Don't be absurd, Napoleon. There is no drug, no technique, for selective amnesia. There's research, of course: Jensen in Oslo, McMurtry in Edinburgh..."

"But you told her-" Napoleon repeated.

"I told her what she needed to hear in order to agree to the procedure. I told T3 what they needed to hear, to let her go."

"Illya..." Suddenly his partner was a stranger.

The Russian closed his eyes. "It's the only way I can keep her safe, Napoleon."

"She won't remember you at all ?" Solo marveled at his partner's capacity for sacrifice.

"The staff here will tell her what I instruct them to tell her. Her name is MaryRose McCallum; that a brain virus disrupted her memory; that she is the chef at the Moonlight Mountain Lodge in the Poconos. It's all arranged. She'll be safe; she'll have a life."

"Without you."

"She'll be safe," Kuryakin repeated his mantra numbly.

"And do you have the right to make that kind of decision for the lady?"

Illya smiled, recalling happier times. "She told me, you called her a lizard-lady when you met."

"That was when I was questioning if her intentions toward my partner were honorable." The usually glib senior agent grew uncomfortable as the somber silence lengthened. " Another cup of clinic coffee ?" he asked unnecessarily.

"No, thank you." Solo's partner was polite, but absent. "I need to get home and pack. I'm taking a couple of days to brood."

"Y'know, the Poconos are quite lovely this time of year."

"No, thank you," Illya repeated steadily. "Somewhere anonymous and gloomy, I think."

Napoleon understood there was nothing else to say. "Bon voyage, Tovarisch."

Au revoir, Rosemary

Part 2 of 3


End file.
